Jess Lebow: Obsidian Ridge

She smiled. "Good morning, my lady. Sleep well?"

Princess Mariko rubbed her hands over her face and brushed her hair back, opening her mouth in a fake yawn. "Not so well," she replied. "I was a little restless last night." She sat down on the edge of her bed. "I didn't get much sleep."

The half-elf frowned. "Yes, not much at all." Stepping around the princess, Genevie shooed her off the bed, pulling up the wrinkled blankets and smoothing them down in an orderly fashion. "I've not seen you so restless in a long time."

The princess let out a long sigh. Time to play Good Princess, she thought.

"Yes," she said. "It's because I haven't felt this way in a long time."

Genevie stopped her tucking and folding. "Why, Princess." She put her hands on her hips and gave the younger woman a stern smile. "Am I to understand that you are lusting after this gentleman suitor of yours?"

Mariko giggled, continuing the "good princess" act. "You make it sound so…" She couldn't find the right word. "So wonderfully unladylike."

Genevie sat down on the bed, all but forgetting about her task of making it again. "So you saw him last night?"

The princess nodded.

"And what did he say?"

Mariko cocked her head. She rather enjoyed teasing the older half-elf. "Say?"

"You know," replied the half-elf without missing a beat, "did he tempt you with promises of his undying devotion?"

Mariko shook her head. "Don't be silly, Genevie. You and your romantic fantasies."

"No, really, what did he say? He must have said something… something to make you so restless."

The princess wandered over to her dressing cabinet and began examining the robes and gowns, looking for something appropriate to wear. "Well, he didn't recite me poetry or compare my beauty to that of the moon, if that's what you are asking."

"Oh come now," scolded Genevie. "Indulge an old woman with your stories of young love."

Mariko lifted a simple, elegant emerald- and sapphire-colored robe and held it against her body, contemplating it. "You make me sound like some preening blueblood who can't wait to be seen at the next royal ball."

"Oh goodness," said Genevie, "I doubt anyone would mistake you for that."

"Thank you." Lifting her dressing gown over her head, she slipped it off her shoulders and hung it on its hook. Then she began pushing her arms through the new robe. "I'll take that as a compliment."

There was another knock at the door.

"This is a busy place this morning," said the princess, rolling her eyes. "I'm not decent!" she shouted at the door.

"There is nothing you can show me that I have not seen before," said her father from the other side. "But if you wish to keep the king waiting, I understand."

Genevie leaped to her feet, dragging the blankets along with her, quickly making the bed.

Mariko flopped the heavy fabric of her robe over her shoulders and popped her head through the opening at the top, letting the blue and green roll down her body like a flowing ocean wave. Crossing to the door, she pulled it open to see her father and his personal bodyguard, Quinn, waiting outside.

"Good morning, Father." She gave a shallow bow as he entered her bedchamber.

"That's no way to greet your father," replied Korox, his arms open.

Mariko smiled and gave her father a warm embrace.

Crossing to the heavy table, the king scanned the room, letting his eyes come to rest on the handmaiden.

He grit his teeth. "Genevie, if you would, please." He indicated the chamber door with his thick, open palm.

The half-elf looked nervously from the king to the princess. Then she bowed deeply and scurried out of the room. Quinn pulled the door shut behind her, staying outside in the hall and leaving the king and the princess alone in her chamber.

"What news?" asked the king.

"Not much." Mariko shrugged. "I was followed."

"By whom?"

The princess shook her head. "I don't know. Whoever it was, I lost them by the docks." "Where did they spot you?"

"Somewhere off the road, just west of the waterfront." "Could have been an underworld sentry." The princess nodded. "Quite possibly." The king sighed. "Well, be careful tonight." The princess smiled at her father. "You too."

The king exited the princess's bedchamber and headed down the hall. Quinn stepped into line behind him, brushing his blond hair out of his face as he followed just off the king's right side. As they approached the audience chamber, a man appeared before them. He had a long, curled moustache and the hair on his chin was neatly groomed into a sharp, pointed beard. His eyes were rather sunken above freckled cheeks, and he grinned as the two men approached.

The king lifted his hand in greeting, but before he could utter a word, Quinn was in front of him, his sword drawn.

"Step back and state your business," commanded the bodyguard.

The man didn't flinch, holding his ground, still smirking. "Stand down, Quinn," said the king in a low voice. "Vasser is expected."

Quinn lowered his sword, but he did not sheathe it. He watched the newcomer with the steely gaze of a mother bear.

The king put his hand on his bodyguard's shoulder. "It's all right. I need a moment."

Pushing past Quinn, the king pulled Vasser into an alcove off of the main hall. The man whispered into the king's ear, and Korox listened intently.

"Yes, I knew this," said the king loud enough for Quinn to hear.

Vasser continued, and the king nodded a few times.

"I see," he said. "That I did not know." Then, after listening to the last of what the man had to say, he dismissed him. "Thank you. Please keep me informed."

Returning to the hall, Vasser turned to Quinn and gave him a long, overly animated bow. Standing up, he straightened his beard, sharpened the tips of his moustache, and marched off down the corridor.

The slain body of Jallal Tasca lay lifeless on a flat stone slab. He had died several days before-of stab wounds through the neck.

"What do you think?" asked a woman dressed in a thick purple velvet robe. "Is he reaping the rewards of the Marketplace Eternal? Or is he straggling through the scalding streets of Dis with a devil on his back?"

"I do not know," replied the wrinkled old man on the other side of the room. "Nor do I care." He was skimming over the words scribbled on a scroll, squinting in the dim light. "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"Well, I hope it's the Marketplace," she said, unfolding a piece of waxed vellum and lifting a thin, sticky, foul-smelling slice of black flesh from its surface. Leaning over Jallal's body, she pried open his jaw and placed it inside. Then she dropped a small leather pouch on his chest. "I would hate to think bringing him back to this world made his existence any easier."

The woman pulled back the sleeves of her robe then opened the pouch. Turning it over, she sprinkled the contents on the dead man's chest. A hundred tiny diamonds scattered across his pale skin.

Tossing the leather pouch aside, the woman spread the twinkling stones on Jallal's ice-cold flesh. Closing her eyes, she began a prayer to the goddess Waukeen.

"Take this wealth, goddess of trade, protector of bounty. And return to us the life that was taken from this good merchant."

Not one for long prayers, the woman bowed her head. "In coin we trust."

Her hands flaring with golden light, magic seeped from her fingertips, first surrounding the tiny diamonds then spreading over the dead man. The warm glow enveloped the entire stone slab, throbbing once, twice, then coalescing into something more solid.

A short burst of light consumed the tiny diamonds, replacing them with large golden coins covering Jallal's body.

Each had on its surface the profile of a beautiful woman, her face angular, uplifted, and strong. Her hair flowed around her, wisps of energy, power, and wealth. And on her brow rested a simple tiara of gold and precious stones.